


Poetry of Earth

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Year of Tropes, This was supposed to be liminal spaces and dinosaurs, but at least we got the dinos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-11-21 07:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11352783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: When a friend of Phryne's asks for her help, Phryne and Jack are off to the Isle of Wight for a spot of paleontology. They really didn't think their cover through...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I am breaking my cardinal fic rule and posting this before it's complete. Because of this I'm not sure when it will be updated, but probably not more than a few days. I wanted to get it in before the end of the month, but I AM leaving the June collection open a few extra days. So if you were worried about being too late, you have time! 
> 
> I will save all of my long, rambling thoughts about this fic (which was supposed to be a much different fic in tone) for another time, but suffice it to say that the Isle of Wight is real, and absolutely gorgeous. Title comes from John Keats, one of several authors with ties to the island: “The poetry of the earth is never dead.” . A lovely sentiment for a fic about fossils.

Adjusting her brown cloche, Frances Sutherland stepped off the ferry from Portsmouth and took a deep breath; the air felt fresher in the island, even though it was only a few miles away from the mainland. Glancing behind her to check her companion had gathered the bags, she headed towards the train that would take them to the small coastal town of Sandown, and from there the tiny village that was the base of operations for the dig.

“Do hurry up, John,” she scolded; her companion rolled his eyes and hefted the valises into their carriage. They had arrived early enough in the day that they had a set of seats to themselves, and as they pulled away from the first station—seats jostling wildly—she patted her red hair.

“You don’t mind the pretense, do you Jack?” Phryne asked, half her mind on the wigmaker that had supplied the casually chic updo. “I know travelling as my brother is less than ideal, but any chance to disassociate ourselves from the infamous lady detective and her Australian inspector is probably worth taking. Hence opting for the red hair: makes a wonderful distraction.”

“And here I thought you were merely attempting to bring Doctor MacMillan to the proceedings,” Jack smirked, deliciously at ease. “And no, of course I don’t mind. Especially as it gives us a convenient excuse for sharing a suite.”

Phryne gave his knee a squeeze, then drifted her hand up his thigh.

“Phryne,” he warned, swallowing hard.

“Nobody else is here,” she pointed out. “And with these individual compartments nobody can walk through…”

“Can we go over the case again?” he asked.

She kissed his cheek and dropped her hand away.

“Spoilsport,” she pouted fondly. “Lucy Farnwell is an old friend, and she rang me up last week—there have been some suspicious events on her dig site. Missing tools, fossils that were partially uncovered disappearing overnight, things like that.”

“And that warrants calling in a private detective?” Jack asked incredulously.

“These archaeologists take it very seriously,” Phryne replied. “And she believes she is about to have a major discovery—the _Hypsilophodon_ is almost entirely found on the Isle of Wight, and Lucy is challenging the widely-held assertion that it’s arboreal.”

“That’s controversial?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Luce has never been one to back down from a challenge, but neither her reputation nor her finances carry the weight of some other’s.”

“And one can only presume her sex doesn’t help,” observed Jack, and Phryne nodded.

“She’s certain they are attempting to discredit her team before they make more progress on the site.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

“There are several other archeologists on the island at the moment, and any one of them could be behind it. But having a detective sweep in would tip them off, and I fear my reputation might precede me.”

“Hence travelling as Frances and John Sutherland, amateur Australian archaeologists without the financial resources to make a name for themselves,” Jack concluded. “How fortunate then that I’ve decided to bone up on my childhood interests while here.”

Phryne looked at him, noting the small hints of a smug smile on his face.

“You know, Jack, one would almost think the pun was deliberate.”

“Thankfully you know my tastes are far too refined for puns,” he replied and she laughed at the glint in his eyes.

“So, inspector, were you a daring fossil hunter in your youth?”

He nodded. “Once, when I was thirteen. We’d gone on holiday to visit some of relatives and I found an opalised mollusc shell, which was a terrible disappointment at the time.”

Phryne raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a bad achievement, Jack. The land’s hardly bursting with fossils.”

“True,” he conceded, “but when you’re a child you dream of finding a whole tyrannasaurus rex.”

Dinosaurs were not her area of expertise, and he clearly read so on her face.

“Enormous dinosaur, was discovered at just the right time to ignite the imagination of a young Jack Robinson,” he explained.

She nodded with false solemnity.

“However did you cope with the disappointment?” she teased.

He cocked his head as he mulled the question over, a tiny smile tugging the corner of his lips.

“My mother pointed out that my brother hadn’t found a thing.”

Phryne laughed loudly, and he chuckled. For the next few stops they talked more of Jack’s childhood adventures, and a few of Phryne’s that she hadn’t shared before. This Jack, free from work and far from home, was more open than she had ever seen him, and their looming return to Australia hung heavily—it was one thing to be together without obligations, but what would become of them when their lives made demands remained to be seen. He caught her shift in mood, glee turning to concern in an instant.

“Phryne?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just mulling over the little information I have from Lucy.”

He nodded, slightly doubtful, but said nothing. A choice she appreciated, but found frustrating all the same—these occasional maudlin indulgences, no matter how understandable, went against everything Phryne held dear, and his quiet acceptance of them drove her mad as much as it comforted her.

“What is Lucy like?” he asked, changing the subject with practiced ease.

“She’s smart, and ambitious, and far be it for me to tell a woman to be quiet but she’s never met an argument she could leave alone. A trait that is usually called tenacity in the other sex, but doesn’t make her popular with her peers.”

“I like her already,” Jack smirked.

There were moments—small, inconsequential moments—when Phryne could not help but wonder what events had shaped him into this man, kind and funny and genuinely happy to meet strong women when so many of his peers would rather they remain silent.

“The next station is Sandown,” she said. “Lucy said she’d send a car to pick us up.”

“Do we have time?” he asked.

“Time for what?”

He shifted, capturing her head in his hand and her lips with his. She responded enthusiastically, slipping her tongue into his mouth and fisting the fabric of his suit. Then she pulled away.

“We really don’t,” she apologised, smoothing his jacket. “Should have taken the chance when you had it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind in the future,” he said wryly, standing to pick up the luggage as the train pulled into the station. “And you might need to fix your—” he motioned around his own lips, and Phryne quickly extracted a handkerchief and wiped the lip colour—a darker, more sombre claret than her usual choices—from her mouth and reapplied it.

When they disembarked the train and exited the train station, Phryne saw their ride and raised a hand in greeting. Lucy had come to meet them herself, her blonde hair swept up beneath a large straw hat and dirt on the knees of her trousers.

“Frances!” she called. “And this must be your brother John. How was your journey?”

“Dull,” said Phryne, rolling her eyes. “How goes the fossil-hunting?”

Lucy shook her head. “The less said the better. But I’m very happy to have you both here.”

Jack nodded in agreement, hoisting up the bags and waiting for Lucy to lead the way to an old delivery lorry that was now used to transport archaeological equipment. All three of them squeezed onto the bench seat in the front, then Lucy drove them through the small seaside town and along the coastal road towards the rolling green hills in the distance.

“The Isle of Wight has some of the best dinosaur fossils,” she explained. “It’s all to do with the land. Our dig site is near Culver Down—do you see that monument in the distance?”

Phryne looked, noting a tall statue of some sort on one of the distance hills.

“That’s Yarborough monument,” Lucy said. “There’s an inn up there, which is where we’re staying. The site is a fifteen minute walk down the hill.”

From the other side of Phryne—she had briefly entertained making Jack take the middle seat, but the poor dear probably would have combusted from sheer embarrassment—Jack spoke up.

“Miss Fisher was saying that you’ve been having troubles on your site?”

Lucy snorted. “Trouble is one word for it. At first we thought it was some kids on a dare—thing moved around, tools going missing, that sort of thing. Then it became more aggressive; we came back one morning to find a fossil we’d been uncovering the day before had been removed. They just took the entire section of rock!”

“Do you know who would benefit from sabotaging your dig?” he asked

“Pick any professional or hobbyist fossil hunter on the island, inspector. In my opinion, when it comes to motive, sex and money come a distant third to a paleontologist scorned. I could just about tolerate it, but this new development could make or break my reputation.”

“The sabotage, you mean?” Jack asked.

Lucy shook her head. “No. We were dealing with that ourselves, setting up a full-time watch but… I called Phryne in because we’ve just uncovered a _Hipsylophodon_ nest. This could get my expeditions funded from now until death.”

Phryne couldn’t help but hope that the comment wasn’t prophetic. The rest of the ride was subdued, and after about fifteen minutes on winding roads they arrived at their destination.

The inn was a low building of wind-battered grey wood near the cliff’s edge, creatively called The Culver Inn. The far end had a second storey, and it was there that the ‘Sutherland siblings’ had their rooms; Jack brought the bags upstairs, mentioning he would unpack and rejoin Phryne and Lucy in the small dining area when he was done. Phryne went through the wooden doors into the pub-like restaurant, and introduced herself to the other members of Lucy’s team: Julian Edmond-Fields, a man Phryne immediately deduced was far more interested in Lucy than in her work; Amelia McDowell, a young university student; and Maurice Richard, who had worked with Lucy for nearly a decade. Phryne was just attempting to determine how Maurice felt about this arrangement when Jack rejoined them, touching Phryne on the shoulder and leaning in to whisper into her ear.

“It's not a suite,” he said quietly. “I've put you in the larger room, with a sea view, and I'm next door.”

She was torn between expressing her disappointment—she had a rather ridiculous fondness for sleeping with Jack, who was both an excellent foot warmer and had a propensity for early morning assignations—and quipping that he was no doubt relieved to escape her own notorious sprawling, but neither was suitable for their cover. So she patted him on the hand and kept her focus on making small talk as a luncheon of cheese and meats was served. The Sutherlands were welcomed easily into the group, though references to the difficulties on the dig site were left unmentioned. The group got along well; there were undercurrents of alliances and closeness below the surface, but no more than Phryne would expect from a group, and she sensed no hostility in it.

“We’ll show you around after lunch,” Maurice said. “Lucy has to head into Newport for some supplies, so we won’t be digging again until tomorrow, but you can both get the lay of the land, see what we’ve found so far.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Phryne said. “John, did you hear that?”

Jack looked up from his own discussion.

“What was that?”

“A tour of the site this afternoon.”

“Ahh, yes, that sounds like a good idea,” he said, then looked at his empty pint glass. “Would anybody else like another round?”

General assent was murmured; Phryne thought he had meant it as an excuse to speak privately, but before he could ask for her help the student, Amelia, stood up.

“You haven’t got enough hands for six,” she said, “and I want to hear more about these opal fossils—it’s not something I’ve ever seen here.”

“I’m sure the Museum of Natural History has samples,” he replied, somewhat strangled.

“I find first hand accounts so educational, John,” Amelia said, tilting her head and smiling. “All the samples in glass cases in the world have nothing on being there and experiencing it.”

The woman was clearly flirting with him. Jack shot Phryne a look that was at least half terror, and she ducked her head to hide her smile. She was certain he’d extract himself with some dignity still intact. Eventually. And this lunch really was too good to pass up.

“Just a water for me this time,” she said, popping a bit of cheese into her mouth. And then, taking a small amount of pity, smiled at Amelia. “Don’t rely on my brother for details. He’s a terrible storyteller.”

———

The excavation site was a narrow valley covered in scrubby grasses that widened out onto the beach, perhaps150 feet across at the widest point, and was accessed by a narrow path along the cliff edge or by driving in from the opposite direction of the inn and coming along the sand.

“It’s technically not a chine,” Maurice explained, “because there’s no river running through it. There are spots like these all along the coast, and the soft rock and access to deeper layers make them perfect for archaeological exploration. You have to be careful as you climb down though, because the ground will crumble and rocks do fall from above you on occasion.”

Phryne glanced up instinctively, but there was no side of a rockslide. Maurice led the group to a large canvas gazebo that covered their latest place of study.

“The land belongs to a private campground, mostly chalets, but they feel that having dinosaurs discovered here will lead to a boon in campers searching for their own fossils. They feel it’s the next step for the economy—affordable holidays for all.”

“How interesting,” Phryne said, then noticed signs of fossils. “Is that…?”

“ _Hypsilophodon_ ,” Maurice confirmed. “This is the third one we’ve found along here, plus signs of a nest. It’s slow going, but… Would you like to have a go at it?”

The idea was intriguing, and when Maurice handed her the tools for excavation Phryne couldn’t resist. It was tedious, careful work, but Phryne felt a great deal of satisfaction as a partial skull began to emerge from the rock. For the next few hours the group talked about the dig and their finds, laughing and teasing as they did so. It was getting dark by the time they decided to head back, and when they eventually returned to the inn, Phryne led the group through to the dining room for a late dinner.

They were, as far as Phryne could tell, the only guests of the establishment—the other diners were all locals, it seemed, and kept to themselves. She watched them, half out of curiosity and half to keep from rolling her eyes at Amelia’s continued attempts to flirt with Jack. Honestly, the man had withstood Phryne Fisher for over a year, a sweet-but-young student would hardly stand a chance. It was endearing to see the poor girl try though; Phryne did like to encourage that confidence in young women. Perhaps she’d tell Jack to reciprocate some small affection, for the good of the case.

The meal was a lamb roast with root vegetables, hearty and filling but not particularly complex. Phryne found herself wishing for Mr. Butler’s cooking, and not for the first time; in some ways it felt as if she’d been in England forever. Still, the conversation was good and a few times she caught Jack’s eye and communicated with him silently—the hint of a smile at a joke or a question in his eyes, a gesture that was more Jack than John in a subtle form of flirtation. It was rare for her to know someone that well, at least here, and she found it welcome.

“Frances,” Amelia said when Phryne had been quiet for some time, “when you’re done here, where will you go next?”

Phryne took a half second to slip into her Frances persona—a broader, more distinctly Australian accent, and more contemplative than her brother (a pretense that would allow Jack to direct professional discussions, since he was more knowledgeable on the topic), but bright.

“It will depend, I suppose,” she said. “We hope to avoid going back to Australia for as long as possible, because the fossils just aren’t there. But we can’t afford to traipse hither and thither either.”

“You are always welcome on my sites,” said Lucy, a welcoming tone in her voice telling Phryne that her friend was not addressing this at _Frances_. “I think we’ve known each other long enough for that.”

“On that note,” said Julian, “how did you meet Lucy? She’s never been to Australia.”

Trust Julian to know that, Phryne thought. The man was practically going about with cupid’s shaft sticking out of his back when Lucy was around.

“I read one of Lucy’s papers seven or eight years ago,” Phryne bluffed. “I was an immediate devotee to her work and wrote to her, and we struck up a friendship.”

“Was that her paper on the iguanodon?” he asked.

She darted a glance towards Lucy, who subtly nodded.

“Naturally. Brilliant work,” said Phryne.

He smiled at Lucy. “It always is. She’s one of the best minds in the field.”

“Julian…” Lucy said, not quite a reprimand.

“You’re going to astound them all, Luce,” Julian said, reaching out to lay his hand on hers for a moment. Lucy smiled almost wistfully, then pulled her hand away; Phryne noticed the way their fingers lingered as she did so. Perhaps her friend was not as immune to his interest as she’d first assumed.

“Well, if I’m to do that, we have to find what we’re looking for,” Lucy said briskly. “Which means an early morning. I’ll see all you at breakfast.”

The rest of the group agreed, and people began to make their way to their own rooms. When the last of them had left the dining area, Phryne headed towards an enormous mahogany bookcase that ran the length of one wall; it was laden with books to borrow, an unofficial library for this isolated area. She had some books of her own in her room, mostly research for the trip, but she found herself browsing the collection before heading upstairs for the night. Running her finger along the well-polished shelf, she found a combination of classic literature—Shakespeare and Austen and Dickens—as well as a satisfying number of pulp magazines and a few on local history. She did a double take when she noticed a copy of _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_ wedged between a book on fishing and one on the Roman settlement in nearby Brading, and smiled softly. She was always happy to see book bans flaunted, and the proprietors of The Culver Inn—a married couple by the name of Rollins she’d met when first arrive and approved of immensely—were clearly just the right sort. Selecting a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets from the row above, Phryne headed upstairs for a long, hot bath before bed.

An hour later, she had bathed and changed into a silk nightgown and robe—a luxury she had refused to forego for the investigation—and tucked her bob into a nightcap and placed her wig in the cupboard. It was nearly eleven o’clock and she was restless—she knew that they would be up early in the morning, in order to eat a breakfast and start digging, but discussing the first day’s impression over with Jack seemed like a good idea. Or at least an agreeable distraction. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey from her bag and optimistically placing her internal device—really, if the opportunity arose she’d be mad to deny it—Phryne opened the door.

And walked straight into Maurice, who was heading towards his own room. He took in her state of dress and blinked. Not lecherous, but definitely admiring.

“I thought I heard a knock,” she explained, figuring it was better than trying to explain why she was stopping by her brother’s room in her fairly revealing nightclothes.

Maurice shook his head.

“Nobody was there.”

Phryne nodded.

“I must have imagined it then," she said, smiling. “Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Closing the door, Phryne pressed her head against the heavy wood. Damn it— going in and out of their rooms at all hours was not going to be an option, which meant that certain activities would not be an option, which meant… well, this case was going to be far less fun than she had anticipated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my June fic has overrun into July, I thought I would take a chance to tell those not on Tumblr that July's trope is Through Time and Space. A link with all the details can be found [HERE](http://firesign23.tumblr.com/post/162480517712/mfmm-year-of-tropes-july-challenge). I hope you join us!

Birdsong and the sound of distant waves woke Phryne the following morning, a far cry from the bustle of London she’d spent the last few months listening to. She lay in a half-awake state for some time, her mind wandering to everything that had happened since that morning on the airfield. She’d expected Jack to defer, to be aggravatingly reluctant at this final hurdle; it would have been easier, perhaps, if he had. She’d waited weeks in London for his arrival, and by the time his ship had docked the winter had set in and flying was far less feasible—they’d spent the season in London, mostly, with occasional jaunts to visit friends or family or see a site Jack was particularly interested in. And now they were set to return to Melbourne, Jack’s leave almost up, and Phryne had barely travelled at all.

On the other hand, there wasn’t a single moment of those months she would change. In this in-between state of sleeping and waking she could feel the spot on her neck that Jack would nuzzle in the mornings, his breath hot and his stubble prickling. Could imagine his palm skimming her stomach and caressing her breast, his stirring erection against her back, the feeling of contentment that came with waking beside him. Waking fully to realise that the bed was empty was a surprising disappointment; she’d enjoyed sharing her bed with lovers in the past, but never enough to miss them when they were not there. Still, there was something to be said for having a bed to one’s self as well.

Stretching and glancing at the clock by her bedside—the alarm was due to go off in another five minutes—Phryne decided to get up. Having had a full bath the night before and not wanting to wear a wig over wet hair, Phryne opted for a quick wash at the sink before dressing for the day. While not completely necessary for the relatively mild weather of southern England, she’d chosen a typical outfit for archaeological excavations—a light blouse, jodhpurs, and a khaki vest with large pockets—then repurposed her flying boots and fedora from her directorial debut on _The Bride of Babylon_ , and added a beautiful silk cravat in shades of blue to bring that touch of sartorial elegance. What was most delightful about the outfit, however, was the full and present knowledge that she’d convinced Jack to wear a similar get-up. “For verisimilitude,” she had asserted, holding up the outfit. He’d protested, of course, but as they’d both been naked at the time, it had been a token at best; Phryne suspected he’d actually rather enjoyed the idea. He certainly had by the end of the evening. Smirking, she applied her lip colour and glanced at the time again—she was almost late, and she hurried out the door.

In the corridor she nearly collided with Jack, who was coming out of his own room; if her reflexes weren’t quite so sharp, she probably would have. Instead she was inches from his chest, close enough she had to look up to meet his eyes beneath the brim of his plinth helmet.

“John,” she said, a little breathless.

“Frances.”

His eyes flicked along the corridor, looking for witness; her eyes flicked down his body, appreciating the tailoring of his belted jacket. He looked very different than her Jack, but she caught his scent beneath the costume. 

“I thought you might stop by last night,” he said, his voice low and secretive.

“I was caught,” she replied. “Maurice was heading to his room.”

Jack’s brow furrowed. “Hmm, he came upstairs the same time as I did.”

“Perhaps went back downstairs for something? To borrow a book, or have another drink?” Phryne suggested, wondering why she hadn’t noted the discrepancy herself. 

Jack nodded.

“Perhaps,” he replied, then turned his attention back to her. It astounded her how easily he could make love to her with nothing but his eyes, and her pulse quickened. “Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” she said, reaching up to straighten his collar. “My feet were cold this morning.”

He smiled softly. 

“Mine weren’t,” he said, expression shifting from affectionate to teasing. “I actually had the covers to myself when I woke up.” 

“Oi!” she exclaimed, swaying closer to him; god, his lips were magnetic. “I’ll have you know—”

A door opened along the corridor and Phryne jumped back, coughing to cover her surprise. Really, she was usually much better at this undercover nonsense. She was doing better than Jack though, who had turn red at the tip of his ears—a minor tell for anyone but Phryne, who knew how rarely he was ruffled. She turned to see who had joined them—it was Amelia, and Phryne couldn’t help but feel that the student’s expression was deeply curious. 

“Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Amelia said. “I thought for sure I would be late to breakfast. I slept in this morning, I’m afraid—forgot to set the alarm.” 

“Allow me to escort you down, then,” Jack said, stepping forward and offering his arm. He glanced back at Phryne, amusement still in his eyes. “Are you joining us, Frances?”

Really, she shouldn’t encourage the poor girl’s infatuation, but it was harmless and she so rarely turned down a chance to match wits with Jack; the man was utterly confident, in himself and in his standing with her, and it would do good to ruffle him just a little. Keep him on his toes. She smirked.

“Only if you’re sure I’m not intruding.”

———

The morning passed uneventfully—the women continued excavating the fossil Phryne had worked on the day before, and the men were recording measurements and observations for the previous finds. It was consuming work, and the time went so quickly that Phryne almost forgot she was there for other purposes. 

When they stopped for lunch, a picnic selection that Lucy had brought in two large hampers, Phryne and Jack touched base by lounging on the same large boulder away from the main group. His head tilted back to catch the sunlight, and Phryne watched the way his eyelashes glowed. She loved his profile. 

“Did you enjoy the excavating?” he asked, not opening his eyes. Phryne looked away before she was caught. 

“I suspect I’ll be thankful we took the morning shift, and will be out of the heat of the sun this afternoon.”

“Now, now, Frances…”

“You’ll never let me live this down, will you?”

He smirked. “I might. Eventually.”

There was a great deal of promise in the word _eventually_ , promises she found herself hoping he could keep. Phryne took the last bite of her sandwich and slid from the rock.

“Come on, John. I want to see the rest of this beach while the others finish eating.”

Jack tilted his head in agreement and stood up, shouting to the others that they would be back in about ten minutes then leading the way through the low scrub and onto the sandy beach where Lucy had parked the lorry. 

“Any particular reason?” he asked amiably, offering Phryne his arm as they began to walk near the cliffs.

“I thought I’d get a lay of the land,” Phryne said absently. “The water must rise quite high here, at high tide.”

Jack nodded. “Maurice was saying they stranded the lorry one day, when they didn’t get out in time. Got it into the valley so it was above the water line and walked back.”

“That was careless of Lucy.”

Jack quirked a small smile. “She was distracted by a nearly complete skeleton they were uncovering. I cannot imagine what it would be like, working with someone so easily deterred by bones or luminescent objects.”

“If this is about the plutonium vial, I stand by my choices.”

He didn’t reply, merely smirked at a point well made; she glanced down the empty beach and then leant up to kiss his cheek.

“Doesn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed,” she said, thinking off all the missed opportunities that littered their relationship. There were times it felt impossible, all the things she wished to do or be, but they had found their way so far.

They continued their stroll in silence, hugging the cliffs of varying shade of orange and brown and white as they walked across the sand. They were about five minutes from the excavation site when Phryne felt the sting of sand against her cheek, then a noise above them; it took a split second to recognise sound of a falling rock.

Shit.

Ducking her head, she shoved them out of the path—Phryne hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from her. She looked up, blinking away the sand in her face, and searched for Jack. He had managed to keep his footing, she realised, probably because he’d been further away, and was looking at her in concern as he stepped forward to offer a hand up. She shook her head, standing and dusting off her jodhpurs briskly. 

“What—?”

He looked up the cliff face. “Rock slide?”

Phryne focused on the single boulder that had fallen. 

“If it was, it’s a small one,” she said doubtfully.

“You alright?”

She nodded absently, moving towards the boulder. 

“Phryne—”

“I’m fine,” she said, crouching down to examine the rock. She wasn’t certain what she was looking for, but she didn’t find it.

“Maybe you should come away from the crumbling cliff face?” Jack suggested.

“Potentially crumbling,” she corrected, standing and moving towards him. “I’m not sure this wasn’t deliberate.”

Jack rolled his eyes.

“With you, I wouldn’t be surprised,” he said, then softened when he glanced down. “You’ve hurt your hand.”

He took her wrist tenderly, encouraging her hand palm up so he could examine the injury. In the rush of adrenalin Phryne hadn’t realised her palm was stinging, but she’d clearly scraped it in her fall. 

“I must have caught it on a stone,” she said.

His thumb brushed along the side of her wrist absently, and her breath caught. The familiarity in that gesture, the ease...

“Jack…”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and a canteen of water from his belt and rinsed the sand out, wincing in sympathy at her hiss of pain, then wrapped the hand neatly. The whole thing took less than a minute, and yet by the end she found herself entirely breathless and longing to kiss him. 

“There,” he said, the tenderness in his voice almost more than she could take. His hand came up to her cheek—to brush the remaining sand away, she realised—and then dropped away. His breath had quickened, his pupils dilated, his gaze never leaving her mouth.

“We can’t…”

A step closer. His or hers, she didn’t know.

“No.”

“I mean—”

“Of course.”

His tongue darted out to moisten his lips.

“It’s just…”

They were inches away. A position they had been in many times before and resisted the temptation, but that was before knowing the feel of his lips against hers, the fierce tenderness he put in every kiss, the heaving breath he took when they parted. Before she knew that every touch came with a certainty that she loved him. It was an addictive sensation.

She stepped closer, tilting her head upwards in invitation, anticipating the moment they would both snap—her hand against his neck as she dragged him into a kiss, his hand in her hair, the desperate teasing of tongues, the solidity of his body flush against hers, the moans of pleasure they would make. They shouldn’t. It was just—

“John! Frances! Are you alright?”

Shaking her head ruefully, Phryne stepped back and turned to the caller. It was Maurice, coming from the direction of the dig site.

“I heard a crash,” he called, drawing closer.

“Ahh, yes,” Phryne said, gesturing towards the boulder. “Bit of a fright, but we’re alright.”

“I did warn you,” Maurice said. “The softness of the cliffs make them great for excavation, but dangerous. They usually put netting up, but it’s early in the season.”

“We should have been more careful,” Phryne said, attempting to sound contrite. “I couldn’t resist watching for fossils in the rock.”

Maurice shook his head. “You should have. It’s going to do none of us any good if you get yourself crushed.”

The man was positively charming; Phryne resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Well, there was no harm done and I’ll be more careful next time,” Phryne said, well aware she would do no such thing. From the quiet snort behind her, Jack had his own suspicions on the matter. She resisted the urge to elbow him in the gut, but barely.

Maurice shook his head. 

“Lunch is over. Get back to work,” he said briskly, turning on his heel and heading back towards the valley in the cliffs. 

Phryne went to follow him, but stopped as Jack touched her elbow. She turned, and saw him carefully watching Maurice’s retreating back.

“His arrival was rather serendipitous.”

“And quick, if he was back at the site,” Phryne replied quietly. 

“I think we need to find out more about our friend Maurice,” Jack said.

“Agreed,” said Phryne, leaning in to dip her voice conspiratorially. “His habit of interrupting us is getting bothersome.”

Jack shook his head in exasperation, but he was smiling. “I don’t know how you get me into these situations, Miss Fisher, but I am never going undercover with you again.”

———

The next few days went by much the same; long hours working at the excavation site, interruptions every time Phryne and Jack managed to be together privately, and very little progress in the investigation. No further sabotage had occurred, and a surreptitious snoop around Maurice Richard’s quarters had turned up nothing more than an interest in novels even Phryne would be hard-pressed to argue had artistic merit. There was something almost uncanny about time in this place—the same routines, the same faces, even the same unchanging weather. It made Phryne antsy, and when Lucy mentioned that she needed to take another trip into Newport on Saturday morning, Phryne leapt at the chance for a change of scenery. 

Leaving Jack to continue asking around the inn—really, if they hadn’t turned up anything yet it was unlikely they would, but they may as well be thorough—the two women and Julian took the lorry into the island’s largest town. After running their errands and browsing several shops—Phryne bought the most divine blue cloche at a milliner’s—the three of them headed toward a pub for a drink and lunch. Removed from the larger group, Julian’s infatuation with Lucy was even more palpable—he never overstepped his bounds, but his adoration was noticeable. Lucy’s reciprocation or lack thereof was less clear, and Phryne found herself curious about their strange relationship. She had the impression that Julian was funding the dig, at least in part, but the specifics were unknown and she could hardly ask when the man was right there.

They had taken a table in the beer garden and placed their orders when a couple of men approached them, slightly the worse for drink.

“Miss Farnwell!” boomed one.

“Dr. Farnwell,” Lucy corrected coolly. “How are you, Harold?”

“Utterly marvelous, you dear girl. You still digging on the wrong side of the island?”

Lucy pursed her lips. 

“It’s only the wrong side of the island if I don’t find something worthwhile.”

The man laughed heartily; the sound set Phryne’s nerves on edge. “And have you?”

“I’m not discussing that.”

Harold turned to his companion, clapping his shoulder. “That means no, mate. Never trust an evasive woman. Charles, this is _Doctor_ Lucy Farnwell. Dr. Farnwell, this is Charles Parkhurst.”

“Yes,” said Lucy tersely. “We’ve met. How are you, Charles?”

“The same, the same,” Charles said jovially. “Harold’s been turning up some wonderful fossils.”

“You must be pleased you funded _his_ expedition, then,” said Lucy, voice caustic. 

It was enough for Phryne to draw some conclusions; Harold clearly drew the same ones, because he suddenly looked awkward.

“Still, it’s lovely to see you again, Lucy,” he said, taking his companion’s arm. “We were just heading out though. Best of luck with your excavation.” 

With that, the two men toddled off. When they were out of earshot, Phryne took a sip of her beer.

“What sent him running?” she asked.

Lucy rolled her eyes.

“Charles Parkhurst chose to fund Harold’s expedition over mine, but the man is notoriously fickle. Harold no doubt thought that my silence about my findings was a danger to his finances, so it was best to scarper off as quickly as possible. Especially as he knows that we have… _differing_ opinions on certain matters.”

“Harold’s determined to ignore any findings that don’t support his preconceived notions,” Julian translated. “He’s a poor scientist and an unpleasant conversationalist.”

“Yes,” said Phryne dryly, “I rather got that impression.”

Lucy raised her glass in a toast. “The two of them can keep each other.”

Raising her own drink, Phryne laughed and took a sip. The three of them finished their meal and headed back towards Culver Down. Phryne wondered if Jack had managed to turn up anything of interest.


	3. Chapter 3

Sunday morning was hot, and after sitting through a church service that nearly had Phryne dozing off—religion brought some people joy and understanding, you only had to look to Dot to see that, but church services had meant scratchy stockings and boredom as a child and her opinion had never improved—Lucy suggested that the entire group go swimming. Jack shrugged charmingly, saying that he didn’t have a suit and he would happily stay behind. Phryne was about to make her own excuses—they had barely had a chance to talk upon her return the day before, and a chance to be alone for a few hours was most welcome; Phryne was about ready to push the matter to get a resolution —when Julian interrupted.

“Nonsense, John. I have a spare, and we must be about the same size.”

Which would be a slight exaggeration, Phryne thought, but the idea of Jack in a slightly-too-small bathing costume definitely held its appeals. With her wig it was safer to avoid the water herself, but a parasol and a beach chair and she could happily appreciate the scenery for hours. She’d always been fond of seaside holidays, after all; there was no harm in waiting another day to solve the case. 

“John was the best swimmer at school,” Phryne said, knowing there was no way he would be able to back out now. 

“And Frances couldn’t swim ten feet with a floatation device,” Jack supplied back cheekily. 

And so they had found themselves heading towards Sandown, all crammed into the old lorry. The town was a smaller-scale version of the great British seaside towns like Brighton to the east and Weymouth to the west: a beautiful sandy beach, brightly coloured beach huts, delicious local ice cream, and a long pier full of varying amusements jutting into the water. The beach stretched several miles along the coast, eventually curving into cliffs on either end. 

“That’s Shanklin Chine, near the end there,” Lucy observed, pointing a section of green the opposite direction to where they were staying. “It has some fascinating botanical specimens, and is one of the older attractions on the island. Not to mention a sordid history of use by smugglers and the odd literary reference,” she continued, clearly infatuated with the area. Then she grinned conspiratorially. “There’s a positively divine little pub down there as well, if we’re looking for a hot meal.” 

Phryne laughed. “Swimming first, I think.”

Lucy had rented one of the huts for the season, and the group took turns entering in order to change into their swimming costumes; Phryne went first, grabbing an umbrella and chair as she left, and found a spot midway between the water and the sandy cliffs overlooking the promenade that stretched the length of the beach to sit. Reclining into her seat, she watched the horizon. The occasional sailboat drifted by, and a few working vessels, but for the most part there was no sign of life beyond the island. It was so much smaller than the St. Kilda foreshore, and the weather was beautiful by English standards but not a patch on a nice January day in Melbourne. Still, it reminded Phryne of childhood trips to the foreshore—Aunt Prudence would always give them a few pennies after they visited Arthur, and the girls would give half to their mother, who would use it for groceries, but the other half… the other half was freedom, if only for an afternoon. They would take the tram—back then it had been drawn by horses, and Janey’s eyes would grow wide at how much larger the animals were than the ponies at Rippon Lea—and head to the foreshore, where they would purchase ice creams and dream of all the places they had yet to go.

It had never been more than dreams for Janey, of course, and the first time Phryne had visited each of those places there had been a twinge of grief for the sister she had lost and the young traveller Janey had never become, but it was her own desires—to live, to embrace, to learn—that had propelled Phryne’s feet forward every time.

Her contemplations were broken when Jack, in a cream bathing suit with navy piping that was—as Phryne had predicted—really rather tight, loped into her peripheral vision. He waved as he jogged past, and she bit her lip as she watched the confident movements. Jack was always confident, of course, whether it was commanding an investigation or over a tumbler of whiskey, but there was something particularly appealing about the ease in his body in moments of athleticism… 

Really, she shouldn’t be ogling him this openly given the supposed nature of their connection, but he was utterly gorgeous. He hit the water and kept moving, diving beneath the waves once he was far enough in, and Phryne decided that upon their return to Australia she was going to drag him to the foreshore and spend an entire afternoon in the water with him. Or possibly an entire morning, to leave the afternoon free for other forms of athletic achievements. It would be worth getting out of bed early.

Closing her eyes and tilting her face to the warmth of the sun, Phryne tried very hard to resist peeking at Jack’s body again. She’d had quite enough unfulfilled fantasies featuring Jack Robinson, and she didn’t particularly want to add to the number. Her eyes were still closed when there was a rustle to her right, and she opened them to find Lucy had brought her own chair.

“I’ll go into the water soon,” she explained, “but I wanted to see how you were getting on.”

Phryne shrugged one shoulder, lowering her sunshades to meet her friend’s eyes.

“I have to admit that it’s looking like an inside job, Luce.”

“One of my team?”

“We don’t know who, but…”

“No,” she said firmly. “I trust these people with my life, Phryne.”

“You asked us to investigate. We’re investigating. What little evidence we have points to somebody who knows your plans ahead of time, knows when something of worth is discovered, and stopped as soon as new people showed up. It’s not looking like some kids playing silly buggers. We don’t know yet, but we have to at least consider the possibility.”

“Consider it then, but I’m telling you it’s nonsense.”

“I hope so,” said Phryne, looking at the group playing in the surf nearby. Jack was speaking with Amelia and Maurice, his head tilted as he took in what they were saying; something had caught his attention, and Phryne wondered how quickly she could pull him aside and find out what it was. Julian was swimming briskly nearby, and pausing to look towards Phryne and Lucy.

“Did you and Julian…?” Phryne asked.

“Are you interested?” 

Phryne pushed her glasses back up her nose. “He’s in love with you, or thinks he is.”

“Recognise the symptoms, do you?” Lucy teased. “We did, he does, I do. But it’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t sound like you, backing down from a challenge.”

Lucy shrugged, attempting to pass as blasé. “I need to go where the fossils are, and he has his own commitments.”

“Difficult, for sure, but not unsurpassable,” Phryne pointed out. “Investing into your expeditions gives you quite a bit of leeway.”

"I don't recall mentioning that," Lucy said, almost defensively.

"Private detective, darling. The point remains, he's a man of means who believes in your work. As do I." 

Lucy scoffed a laugh. “Yes, and the moment it’s discovered that we’re… my professional reputation is precarious enough without the whole world knowing that I’m being backed by my lover, Phryne, and it would be worse if he were my husband. We decided a long time ago that we’d rather remain friends than compromise who we are.”

Phryne nodded, her eyes on Jack once more—he was moving back towards the shore, hair flopping across his eyes and a set to his shoulders that told her his return was not a social visit. She reached out and patted Lucy’s knee in comfort, then stood. 

“I’m going to get an ice cream,” she said. “Do you want one?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, I’ll be heading into the water in a moment. This heat is killing me.”

“You’d never survive Australia,” Phryne laughed. “Go on, I’ll let you know when we turn up anything new.”

Lucy tossed her sunshades onto her chair, heading towards the water, and Phryne headed towards the beach hut—ostensibly to retrieve her handbag and coins for ice cream, but as Jack was headed in the same direction she could ask him what had come up in the talk with Amelia and Maurice at the same time. They fell into step as they approached the bright blue hut, and Phryne smirked as she kept her eyes forward. 

“Do you have any idea how distracting you were?” he asked quietly, stepping ahead to open the hut door; she could see the desire in his eyes, hot and the slightest bit dangerous, but knew she couldn’t be distracted. 

“I hope it didn’t keep you from your job, inspector?” she asked, stepping past him into the coolness of the hut. There was a single bare lightbulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling, and she turned it on as Jack followed her inside and shut the door. 

“I _am_ a professional, Miss Fisher,” he said dryly, grabbing a towel from the pegs along the far wall. 

Hopping onto a high stone benchtop that ran the length of the left-hand wall—there were a few glasses and bottles of alcohol on the far side, because nothing made a perfect evening view like a good cocktail—Phryne grinned at him.

“A very good professional, darling, but this costume is very distracting,” she said, raising a hand behind her neck. “Have you seen the tie holding the top up?”

Jack tossed the towel aside and stepped between her legs, his large hand coming to lay over hers. His eyes met hers in a fond sort of reprimand, and a finger stroked the back of her neck even as he shook his head.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint,” he said.

“You never disappoint, Jack.”

“Now I know you’re just trying to flatter me,” he smiled. “If I don’t disappoint you on occasion, I’ll be failing at my sworn oaths as a police officer.”

Phryne laughed. “Annoy, perhaps, but you executing your duties to the best of your conscience will never _disappoint_ me, Jack.”

He gave a minuscule smirk, then lowered his head to kiss at her neck; Phryne exhaled softly.

“Careful,” she warned, tilting her head to give him more room. “I don’t want to explain—ohhh, there.”

His hand moved, untying the knot on her swimming costume and allowing the top to fall to her waist. 

“You’re right,” he agreed, moving down to kiss her breasts, “no raising suspicions with how close the Sutherlands are.”

“I think that ship might have already sailed.”

His tongue flicked against her nipple in reprimand and she gasped. 

“Good?” he asked.

“Good,” she confirmed, leaning back as far as she could on the narrow ledge. 

His palms came to rest on her hips, his thumbs hooking beneath the material. 

“Lift up,” he directed.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and raised her hips off the bench, and he groaned as he tugged the swimming costume down to her knees.

“You’re irresistible,” he muttered.

“You’ve been doing an excellent job so far.”

He kissed her thigh instead of replying, nuzzling his nose in the crook as he slid to his knees. He slipped the swimming costume off her legs, then carefully placed it beside Phryne.

“Sand,” he explained.

“My eminently practical—” she gasped once more as his tongue found her cunt, firm and demanding in its explorations. 

Her head dropped back as a finger joined his mouth and she revelled in the sensations—it was madness that she had gone so long without him, madness to think that she ever would again, madness to ever want to. 

“Keep that up and I might just scream,” she panted, gripping his hair to keep him in place.

She felt his smile in the cheeks pressed against her thigh.

“I’m not complaining,” he murmured.

“Not going to help our cover,” she managed, pulling at his hair until he caught her meaning and stood. His kisses were tangy with the taste of her, and she tugged at the shoulders of his wet suit. The heavy wool and too small size made it impossible to remove with one hand, and she tugged harder.

“Careful,” he warned. 

“Don’t want to,” she pouted, gentling her approach. His broad shoulder beneath her palm was cool from the water, and she curled her hand to scrape against it with her fingernails. 

Jack took a half-step back, slipping his hand beneath the straps of his swimming costume to pull it down. The tightness made it slow going, and Phryne watched raptly as his skin was revealed. When the top was around his waist, he stopped.

“You look like you want to devour me,” he smirked, well aware of his own appeal but willing to tease.

“I do,” she agreed, reaching out to grasp his hips and pull him close. “But as your swimming costume is covering the most delectable portion of you…”

“A shame.”

“Very much,” she agreed, brushing a hand against the outline of his cock through the swimsuit, “but easily remedied.”

“Oh yes?”

“Mhmm,” she hummed agreeably. “Why don’t you remove these trunks and turn around so I can admire your thighs in full.”

“Ohh, my thighs,” he said, smirking as he played along. “That seems reasonable.”

He pushed the material off his slim hips, letting the heavy weight drop it to the floor, and stepped forward. Phryne made a disapproving noise, indicating he should turn with a circle of her finger. He sighed—she was fairly certain it was a pretense, but grinned anyway—and turned around. Phryne leapt down from the benchtop and stepped closer, trailing a finger up the back of his thigh and the globe of his arse and kissing his shoulder blade.

“The first thing I’m doing when this is over is admiring you for hours,” she said.

“Do I get a say in this?” he asked.

She nipped at the skin of his back. “Absolutely not.”

“Not even if I suggest mutual admiration?”

“No, I’ve decided.”

He spun quickly, catching her around the waist and lifting her back onto the benchtop as she laughed.

“Shh,” he scolded through his own chuckles. “I’ll have to get my admiration in now, then.”

Admire he did—every caress was cherishing, every kiss inflaming, every thrust of his cock inside her perfectly timed to pull her towards climax. In no time she was gripping his shoulders and biting her lip to keep from screaming, his hands at the small of her back to keep her close as she came.

She was still in his embrace when it ended, his head pressed against her shoulder as he panted—he’d withdrawn before completion, she realised, and was getting himself off. She slipped her own hand down to replace his, touching him with just enough firmness that he came after a few strokes. 

“Damn,” he muttered. “You’ll kill me one of these days.”

Phryne slid off the bench, her legs slightly wobbly in the aftermaths of her orgasm. 

“But not today,” she said. “I think we’ve been here too long as it is.”

She moved away to clean herself with a towel and redressed as quickly as possible, pulling on a pair of shoes as well, and stood straight. Jack was watching her, and stepped forward. 

“Here,” Jack said, reaching out to adjust the wig slightly. “Now you’re perfectly Frances.”

She wrinkled her nose, then looked to where Jack’s swimming costume lay.

“You’ll never get back into that,” observed Phryne. 

Jack shrugged in response and turned, picking up the clothes he’d worn to the beach—beige trousers, a white linen dress shirt he wore rolled halfway up his forearms, and a lightweight sweater vest in shades of blue.

“People are likely to ask questions if you stay in here while I dress,” he said awkwardly.

“I think we’ve been in here long enough to raises suspicions as it is,” Phryne said. “I’ll just slip outside and wait for you? I was planning to get some ice cream.”

“Because watching you eat ice cream will really help maintain my cover,” Jack said dryly.

Phryne winked. “Just for that, dear brother, you’re buying. And I expect two scoops.”

She paused at the door, taking a final chance to rake her eyes over his naked form as she grabbed her purse. She really did have to resolve this case soon, for her professional pride as much as her desires to drop this silly charade. Well, almost as much. She closed the door behind her and took a seat on the beach hut step. 

It only took Jack a few minutes to change, and when he came out Phryne stood and dusted the fine sand from her swimming costume. She took his proffered arm and led him towards the pier, where she had seen several ice cream kiosks. This far down the promenade they were alone—there were a few people in the water, but nobody within earshot—and she took the opportunity.

“What were you talking about with Amelia and Maurice?”.

“Finances. Which is a topic much easier to bring up as a police officer,” he said. "Not that it led anywhere of interest."

“Miss the badge?” she asked, aiming for light-hearted but too interested in his response to succeed. 

“I’ll have it back soon enough.”

She smiled weakly. “Australia, yes.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t _want_ to go back—she missed her home, her friends, her life there—but it was a both a heavy and precious thing to have a home to go back to.

“Six months leave was shorter than it seemed,” he said.

It had gone by so fast, this perfect bubble where their only commitments were to themselves, where the realities of their positions and their differences could not intrude. It did no good to look back wistfully, but when the future was so unclear… as if generated by her thoughts, Phryne noticed a round kiosk on the promenade—the roof and trim were bright red, the walls were covered in flyers advertising various mystical forces, and the open doorway was obscured by strings of hanging beads.

_“Palm readings_ ,” she read off one poster, “ _your future told by palm reader Starlina Lee, granddaughter of the renowned Gipsy Rose Lee, fortune teller to Queen Victoria. Guide to the nobility_ —” Phryne snorted. “Because nothing says reliable like a little hut on the foreshore.”

“Are you doubting her authenticity?” Jack asked dryly. “She claims she’ll pay £5 to anybody who disproves her heritage. Besides, I thought you believed in keeping an open mind?” 

It was a challenge, a dare, and Phryne refused to back down over something so silly.

“You’re right, brother dear. Perhaps we should step inside and see what our futures hold.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but Phryne had no sympathy—he really should have predicted this reaction.

“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing her inside.

Stepping through the beaded curtains, Phryne was hit by the overwhelming smell of incense—no doubt a trick to distract people while the fortune teller took her first impressions. The woman in question was younger than Phryne had expected, and her only concession to a gypsy costume was a brightly coloured scarf over her hair. She looked up, almost bored.

“Cross my palm with silver if you want your fortune told,” she said.

Phryne pulled some coins from her purse and handed them over. The woman grabbed her hand in a tight grip, forcing the palm face up.

“Interesting,” she said. “You’re not a believer.”

“I could be convinced,” Phryne replied. 

“Not by what I have to say,” the woman said. “Your future is murky, your path undetermined. You’ll need to make a decision soon, but you could go either way.”

“That’s all you have?” Phryne asked incredulously.

The woman waved her hands vaguely. “Some people… their paths are clear. Others are more difficult to foresee. You are the latter. Strong-minded, impulsive, brave. I cannot see beyond this fork in the road.”

The entire exercise had meant to be a lark, but Phryne found herself irritated by the woman all the same. Could she not at least have made an effort? What adult didn’t have an upcoming decision of some sort?

“What of my past then?” Phryne challenged.

“There has been good, there has been bad. You are a survivor,” the woman said curtly. “I sense the letter J is important to you. A lover, perhaps, or a friend. Family.”

Considering J was one of the most common initials, a person would be hard pressed to not have a connection to the letter. How dreadfully dull. Phryne pulled her hand away, realising she had not even sat at the small table with a crystal ball in the centre.

“Thank you for your time,” she said, stepping backwards to head through the door.

She blinked at the harshness of the sunlight—she must have left her sunglasses in the beach hut—and turned to Jack. He was watching her, ever-so-slightly amused, and her initial plans to tell him not to bother were swamped by an urge to annoy him as much as she was.

“Your turn,” she said. 

He nodded and strode through the curtain. Phryne found a bench nearby to wait, her irritation fading in the sunlight. The poor girl could not be more than twenty—it would take time for her to learn how to read people and provide ‘accurate’ predictions, and there was no point in getting annoyed by something that had been meant as an amusement to begin with. No, she’d put it out of her mind entirely. Jack came out of the kiosk a few moments later.

“I’m to fall in love with a beautiful blonde,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Seeing as how we arrived with two of them and the kiosk is in line of sight of our spot on the beach, I can’t help but feel this was lazy even by charlatan standards.”

“At least she attempted to be personal,” Phryne replied.

“No croquet this time?” he teased.

“Sadly, no. I shall have to suffer a croquet-less life.”

Jack laughed and tilted his head in the way she’d come to associate with him. 

“Well, for now our future holds ice cream,” he said, smiling as he offered his arm again. “And if we’re very fortunate, perhaps a go on some of the amusements.”

Phryne laced her hand around his bicep and squeezed.

“I suppose I can live with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying not to geek out too much about all the little historical things in this fic, but I'll just take a moment to point out that [Gipsy Lee was a real woman with a fascinating history](http://romanygenes.com/grand-old-dukkerin-days/4527668317), including telling fortunes for Queen Victoria (who has her own ties to the Isle of Wight), and some of her descendents [continue the tradition of palm reading in beachside kiosks](http://www.bognor.today/attractions/palmist). I'm definitely with Jack and Phryne on their authenticity, but it's an interesting little quirk. The use of 'gypsy' was used to reflect the people's chosen identifier (which remains true even today), but I am aware that the term is divisive. No offense was intended.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness. A short epilogue will be up later today.

“I’ve missed this,” Phryne said, tucking her knees beneath her chin as she sat on Jack’s bed.

The group had had dinner in Sandown before returning to the inn, and Phryne had taken the opportunity to duck into Jack’s room for a conversation. He poured them each a drink from the bottle of whiskey Phryne had brought with her, holding one glass out in offer before taking a seat in the room’s only chair. It was probably best if they kept some distance between them.

“Whiskey?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, and she laughed.

“No. Working through a case with you. London was lovely, but…”

“It wasn’t the same,” he agreed.

“No.”

He took a sip of his drink, eyes laughing.

“I’m much more use with a badge,” he said.

She knew he was joking, but the self-deprecation rankled.

“I can think of half a dozen other things you’re useful for,” she countered, her tone a little more tart than she had intended.

“I just meant that I could actually investigate back home, instead of waiting for something to happen.”

Home, again, dragging at her. It did no good to dwell.

“I’ve never had much patience for waiting,” she said. “I think it’s time we force the issue.”

“And what do you propose, Miss Fisher?”

“A rumour,” Phryne said, mind leaping from thought to thought as the plan formed. “Let it be known that an identifying item was found on the dig site.”

“I thought you suspected one of the team?”

“I do. It will have to be something that would implicate them but could not be explained by their usual presence.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not sure what it is yet,” Phryne conceded. “I’m sure I’ll think of something though.”

“How dangerous is this likely to be?” he asked. 

“More than you’d like, hopefully less than usual?” she guessed, voice rising; he shook his head. “I’ll do it whether or not you agree, Jack.”

“I’m aware,” he said dryly, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she challenged.

“Christ, Phryne,” he rasped, rubbing his hand over his face. “It’s supposed to mean exactly what I said. You agreed to solve this case for Lucy, and you’ll find a way to do it even if it’s something I can’t condone. I’ve no doubt that whatever you think up will put you directly in harm’s way, even after you almost had a boulder bashing your head in—”

“I thought you suspected a rock slide.”

He looked at her, unamused. “I also have no doubt that whatever you think up will solve the case. That’s all I meant.”

“Well, good,” she said uneasily. “Because funnily enough I’d rather _not_ have my head bashed in, so I’d like your help.”

“Was it ever in doubt?” 

It hadn’t been. Whatever else might happen, Jack’s steadfast loyalty was an inescapable truth. She wondered what it would take to lose it, and chided herself for the thought. 

“I wouldn’t want to presume,” she said, draining the last of her drink and setting it on the side. “Now, I think we both agree that Maurice is our likeliest culprit? Lucy wouldn’t have called us in, and I haven’t been able to find anything suspicious about Amelia.”

“What about Julian?” he asked.

“No,” said Phryne. “I can’t see him doing this.”

“Undermining his own investment, you mean?”

Phryne rolled her eyes. “He’s in love with Lucy. Has been for years.”

“I’m aware,” Jack said. “I don’t see why that precludes him.”

“Because he loves her enough to let her go,” Phryne said. 

The befuddlement on his face was strangely adorable, and Phryne unfolded her limbs to slide off the bed and cross the room to sit on his lap instead. Her arms wrapped around his neck, toying with his hair. 

“Lucy feels the same way,” she told him. “But she swore a long time ago that she’d dedicate her life to her work, and… their situation was untenable. But he’s remained her staunchest ally, and I just can’t see him destroying her work.”

“Not even if it would bring them together?”

“Well, that’s a nefarious thought,” she laughed. “But I think he’s one of the rare men who loves a woman for who she is, not who he would like her to be.”

“They aren’t that rare,” he protested.

She nuzzled the crook of his neck. “You’d be surprised.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps you underestimate us.”

Phryne hummed, pretending to think about it. “No, I’m afraid not, Jack. I’ve known a great many men, and the type is definitely the exception and not the rule.”

His arm tightened around her waist, fingers tapping against the inside of her thigh. She wasn’t entirely certain if it was meant as a teasing caress or an absent motion as he thought, but it lit a spark of desire in her gut; she parted her lips, tracing his jaw with her tongue. He groaned, a sensation that rolled through his body, but tried to keep focused on the case. 

“The point remains, I don’t think you can rule him out entirely. Perhaps he thought that if her work was compromised she would rethink things.”

“Oh, what rot!” Phryne said, sitting upright in his lap. “You act as if Lucy doesn’t know her own mind.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, suddenly defensive. Which was an utterly absurd thing to attempt while her lipstick was smeared across his cheek, but he succeeded. 

“What did you mean?” she asked, allowing her body to relax against him once more, reaching up to unbutton the collar of his shirt. Her tone was almost conciliatory; it was the second time in only a few minutes she’d leapt to prickly, and it wasn’t Jack’s fault. 

“I’m not doubting her, Phryne. I’m trying to find motive. All we have are accounts of sabotage we’ve never seen.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Jack shrugged. “You like Julian, and you know Lucy cares for him. Thinking the best of him is perfectly understandable.”

“It’s not…” she trailed off, uncertain what she’d intended to say. It was not a familiar sensation.

He pressed a kiss against her hair.

“If Julian was tired of waiting—”

“Do you believe it?” she asked.

“Believe what?”

“That this could be some contrived attempt to convince Lucy to give up the dig?”

He sighed. 

“I think it’s unlikely,” he said, then smiled slightly. “And a terrible plan, regardless.”

Chuckling quietly, she began to mouth at his neck once more. She could feel his pulse beneath her lips, strong and quick despite his calm exterior. 

“It probably is,” Phryne agreed, moving towards his ear; he shivered as her breath gusted across his lobe. “Lucy is very dedicated to her job.”

A deep breath, a swallow. He pulled back, meeting her eyes—there was only the tiniest sliver of blue to his, his pupils blown with desire. When he spoke his voice was low and deep, tugging at something deep in her own chest.

“I’m sure she is, but I wouldn’t presume his position is entirely without hope. People can change.”

“They can, darling. But you can’t change other people.”

“No,” he agreed. “And as you said, he seems one of the rare men that would rather not.”

“But it’s best to be certain,” Phryne conceded. “So how are we going to handle this?”

“Well,” said Jack, unwrapping one arm from her waist to reach for the bottle of whiskey, “I think we can start with another drink.”

Laughing in delight, she slid off his lap to retrieve her own tumbler and retake her position on the bed. Jack looked deliciously rumpled from her hands, but their attention had shifted to the case. They debated and discussed and planned, giving shape to the nebulous action Phryne had suggested. This was where she loved to live—not in the leap, but the split second before when the world lay before her and anything was possible. 

When they were satisfied with their plans, Jack glanced at his wrist watch. 

“People will be coming to bed soon,” he said. “You should probably head to your own room for the night.”

Phryne sighed, fingers absently plucking on the blanket on his bed. She could see how easily it could go another way—she would finish divesting Jack of his clothes, he would slide her own off with careful fingers; kisses that grew sloppy, limbs that became tangled; the slow undulations between them, the clever press of fingers and teeth, the mingled sounds of pleasures; the moments after, sweat still on their skin and pulses thudding; falling asleep, knowing he would be there when she woke. It was a tempting picture, but impossible. 

“Will you walk me to my room?” she asked instead of giving it voice. “It’s such a long way.”

Jack smiled, an amused and exasperated expression he seemed to keep solely for her, and warmth blossomed in her chest. She selected a book from the pile on Jack’s bedside table— “In case anybody sees me leaving the room,” she explained, handing over a handkerchief so Jack could clean his face of her lipstick—and stood. Jack offered his arm and they headed to the door, pausing when they got there.

Phryne caught his neck, kissing him softly in parting.

“Just a few more days,” she said, pressing her forehead against his as they parted.

“Just a few more days.”

Shaking off the melancholy as best she could—really, they were sleeping in adjacent rooms, for heaven's sake!—she walked out into the corridor, heading for her own room.

———

The clinging, humid heat of the previous few days had broken, a faint breeze coming off the ocean to where Phryne sat tucked into a dark shadow. She fiddled with the torch in her hand, wondering whether the trap they had laid would do its job. It was rare for Phryne to be so uncertain in her ploys, but it was a weak plan and had taken several days to pull together. Unable to come up with a suitable object to have discovered, she had instead let it slip to the proprietor of the inn that ‘something’ had been found and hoped the full moon would be enough of a lure. 

There was movement from the top of the valley, and a figure came into Phryne’s line of sight. As it drew closer, Phryne stood. 

“Whoa!” exclaimed Julian, raising his hands in surrender. “What are you doing down here?”

Phryne scrambled over the rocks, coming to stop directly in front of him.

“I could ask you the same question,” she challenged.

Julian glanced down the path and back over his shoulder, then gestured with his head back towards the nook Phryne had been hidden.

“Come here,” he said. 

Phryne followed, pausing to flash the torch to where Jack was hidden on the other side of the valley, the agreed-upon signals for ‘safe’ and ‘come’. Julian had drawn himself into the shadows.

“Why are you here?” Phryne asked again.

“I’m not sure if Lucy ever mentioned this to you, but before you arrived we were having some… _difficulties_ , with the site.”

Phryne nodded. “Things were going missing.”

“Exactly. The only consistency is that it happened on clear nights. So I’ve been coming down when I can’t sleep, hoping to catch the person in the act,” he explained, and Phryne believed him. “Which leads me to why you are down here, and lurking in shadows. You can’t be behind this, since you only arrived last week.”

Phryne sighed and carefully removed her wig. 

“I am a friend of Lucy’s,” she said, “but my name isn’t Frances, it’s Phryne. Phryne Fisher. I’m a private detective. Lucy asked me to investigate after the last incident.”

Julian looked confused, and at least slightly betrayed. 

“Your brother?” he finally asked weakly.

“Not her brother,” said Jack from behind Julian. Poor Julian jumped and spun around. “Detective Inspector Jack Robinson—”

“Scotland Yard’s involved?” he asked, stunned.

Phryne laughed. “Not quite. Jack’s with the constabulary in Melbourne, and was in London for… other reasons.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Julian said. “That explains a great deal. We were beginning to wonder whether you’d left Australia for more than just fossils.”

And while Phryne could appreciate the humour in this, there was a prickle of resentment at the impugnment of her professional capabilities. If they couldn’t manage to do something as simple as pose undercover without being that bloody transparent… well, she had to admit she wasn’t wild about the idea. She turned to Jack.

“Julian here has been watching the site.”

He nodded. “That might explain why the saboteur hasn’t made a move since we arrived. Mr. Edmond-Fields—”

“Julian, please.”

“Julian. Have you seen anything on these excursions that might help us?”

Julian thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Just that every incident happened on a clear night with lots of light. Like tonight.”

“Alright,” Jack said, then looked up. “This is no good with three of us. Come with me.”

The three hiked out of the valley, finding a place along the cliff to watch from. The distance would make it harder to intervene quickly, but gave them a better view, and allowed them to quietly converse while they passed the time. Without the pretense of their cover, Phryne was able to speak candidly with Julian and found herself liking him quite a bit. And really, a little push in the right direction couldn’t do any harm. 

“Does Lucy know you took upon yourself to become guardian of the excavation?” Phryne asked lightly.

“I didn’t mention it, no,” Julian replied.

“No, I suppose this desire to pine in secret—”

“I am not doing this because I am _pining_ ,” he replied tartly, and Jack snorted. 

“Really, Miss Fisher, you of all people should know not to presume,” Jack said, mirth in his voice. Phryne ignored him. Really, he could _help_ her with this instead of being a smartass.

“But you do love her?” she asked Julian.

“Very much so. But I am doing this—” he gestured to their surroundings, “because she is my friend, and I could help her. Should have suspected she’d settled it herself.”

Phryne arched an eyebrow, half in agreement. Jack wouldn’t have underestimated _her_ so easily… though, she had to concede that he would have found his own way to help her. Before she could remark further, she spotted someone headed down the path from the inn towards the valley, and Jack drew her attention to an approaching boat manned by two figures. It was high tide, or near enough, and the water was nearly lapping at the base of the cliffs.

“Smuggling?” Phryne asked.

Julian shifted to stand, and Phryne grasped the sleeve of his jacket.

“Wait!” she hissed.

“I want to get closer,” he replied. “There’s all sorts of legends about smugglers using these valleys, but it’s usually the ones further round the coast.”

Not releasing her grip, Phryne shot a pleading look to Jack. She was fairly certain Lucy would never forgive her if Julian went and got himself killed. He tilted his head, made a motion with his hands; Phryne shook her head in reply, made a motion of her own. He nodded.

“Julian, go with Miss Fisher to the mouth of the valley,” he instructed. “We don’t know if there are more than three people.” 

“I’ll keep her safe,” Julian replied.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Miss Fisher is to keep you safe, seeing as how she’s the one with a gun.” Phryne flashed Julian a glimpse of her revolver, and the man blanched. Jack continued, “Phryne, I’ll head down the far side, see how much I can see. I still have my torch, so—”

“You’ll signal me, and if it’s safe I confront the single figure on the way back up the hill,” she finished. “And I’ll signal you if others arrive.”

He nodded, slipping off into the night. Phryne and Julian followed a moment later, lurking in the bushes that ran alongside the cliff edge. Phryne shifted in her tracks, antsy to be doing anything but waiting once more but unwilling to leave Julian. Just as she thought her patience would snap, there was a flash of light from down in the valley. Jack’s signal. Motioning Julian to stand still and be quiet, Phryne watched the lone figure they had seen coming from the inn begin their journey back up the valley. When they reached the top of the path, Phryne stepped out, one hand on her revolver in case it was needed.

It was Mrs. Rollins, the innkeeper. Which was almost as surprising as the wagon she pulled behind her. Phryne stared, at a loss for words. Finally she blinked, twice, and met Mrs. Rollins’ gaze. 

“Books?”

———

In the end, the solution to the sabotage was incredibly mundane. The Rollinses had a sideline business in banned books—Maurice was a regular customer, hence the tomes Phryne had found in his room—and brought them in via the small valley, and had done so for years. When the property had been purchased and Lucy given permission to dig there, the family had been certain their business would be uncovered.

“We liked you,” Mrs. Rollins had said apologetically, when they had made their way back to the inn and Lucy and joined them, “and there’s more fossils down the other side of the island. We thought if we made the area feel unsafe…”

Phryne believed her.

“Did you push the rock?” Phryne had asked.

Mrs. Rollins had shaken her head. 

“We wanted them gone, not dead,” she had said firmly. “Will you be calling the police?”

Lucy had paused, picking up one of the books Mrs. Rollins had retrieved that night, then grinned.

“I don’t believe in banning books. In fact, I doubt anyone here does?” she had looked around the table to Phryne, Jack, and Julian. All of them shook their heads no. “So I think, perhaps, the solution here is to work together. If my items are returned, I will keep your secret. And—” she flipped open the book in her hand, “I might become your best customer.”

Agreements had been made, and everyone had retreated to their own rooms to sleep. Phryne and Jack would depart in the morning, crossing the island to reach the ferry to Southampton, and from there catch their boat to Melbourne. It was all neatly resolved, and Phryne could not understand her restlessness. Unable to sleep, she slipped down the stairs and out the door.

Drawing her coat around her, Phryne walked away from the inn towards the cliff edge. A few windblown trees and a dip in the ground meant she was well out of sight without having to go far. The moon was orange and hung heavily in the sky, casting a light to the water below. In the distance Phryne could see the lights of the night ferries, carrying people from England to France and then to anywhere they wished, and felt a longing to follow them. Board a boat with no end destination in sight, free to go where her whims took her.

So deep in thought, she almost failed to notice the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Perhaps you ought to wear perfume,” she said quietly, and heard Jack chuckle.

“I’m not certain my policeman’s wages would stretch to that,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her neck. “The moon is beautiful tonight.”

She murmured her agreement, not turning to greet him; she wasn’t certain she could hide her thoughts from his careful gaze. She needn’t have bothered—after a moment, he gestured towards the boats.

“Where do you think they’re going?” he asked. 

“Caen or Cherbourg, most likely,” Phryne said. 

“And from there?”

“Wherever they like, I suppose.”

“You want to be there,” he said quietly.

“No,” she asserted, then sighed. “Perhaps. It’s complicated.”

She could not quite put into words the restlessness of her soul, the urge to take to the sky or the rails or the open seas in search of freedom, nor the way her internal compass was now firmly pointing home. 

“Everything is with you,” he murmured against her ear.

“Hmm?”

“Complicated.”

She hummed again, leaning back to rest her head on his shoulder.

“Fifty-seven miles. If I started walking along the coast right now that’s as far as I could go, and half of that would be coming back to where I started. The ferries won’t run again until morning.”

“You’re trapped.”

“That sounds rather more dramatic than the reality,” she said. “But essentially, yes.”

“And you… want your freedom?” he asked, clearly no longer talking about the island, if they ever had been.

She traced the hands on her waist, so familiar to her now. So desired. 

“I want… I want everything, Jack. I want to stand on the edge of the world and shout with joy, and I want to be in Melbourne investigating with you, and I want to climb every mountain that stands in my way. The problem is, I’m not sure it’s possible to do all of those at once.”

The breeze blew through her hair, bringing a stronger smell of the sea far below; she swallowed hard against her tears.

“If anybody can figure out how to do it, it would be you, Miss Fisher.”

She huffed a laugh, turning to face him properly for the first time.

“A sentiment I very much appreciate, but does not actually resolve matters.”

“Do you need to solve this now?” he asked. “It’s not as if you haven’t improvised before.”

His lips quirked, sweet and fond.

“I suppose not,” she said.

“And when something comes up that you can’t solve yourself… it’s what we do best, isn’t it?”

She tugged at the lapel of his coat.

“Well, I can think of one or two others things we do equally well,” she purred, “but it’s on the list.”

His hand rose to tangle in her hair, pulling her close for a kiss. There was no demand in the action, no attempt to persuade her with a flare of passion, no sense that he longed for anything different; nor was there a lack of confidence or feeling. It was a kiss so certain in his love, in hers, in their connection, that it might as well have been written in the bedrock. 

When they broke apart, they stayed close, foreheads pressed together. His hand in her hair moved to lift a strand of her bob from her cheek, fingering it contemplatively before tucking it behind her ear. His lips curled.

“You make a charming redhead, but I must admit I missed this.”

She laughed, kissing him again—a promise and a certainty she trusted him to feel, that she allowed herself to feel. 

“We should head back,” she whispered against his lips.

He nodded, taking half a step back and offering his arm to escort her. They had climbed the small dip in the ground, the lights of the inn guiding them back, when he paused and cocked his head. , 

“You know, Phryne, if you really needed to reach the mainland tonight, you could always steal a boat…”

She laughed, holding his arm tighter.

“I suppose it can wait until the morning.”


	5. Chapter 5

Phryne stood at the rail of the ship, eyes on the dock ahead. It was teeming with friends and family waiting to greet the incoming ship, though there was only one person waiting for her. She was nearly two months later reaching home than she had planned—there’d been an incident in Bombay with a friend and a series of jewel thefts, and Phryne had stayed behind to assist, then made her own way to Colombo to catch a later boat. It had been delightful, but she was itching to put her feet in Australian soil and resume her life there. 

There’d been correspondences, of course, letters and telegram and even a couple of long distance telephone calls with a poor connection. She knew Mac had met a new woman—her oldest friend was so besotted that there was no hiding it—and Dot was settling into married life with the occasional kerfuffle and Cec’s Alice had given birth to a little girl they’d named Ruth. Jane was back from the continent and wrecking havoc at school. Aunt Prudence was waging a high profile battle against the successor to the Gratuity Girls program. Phryne was eager to see them all, and had planned for a welcome home party that evening. For the moment, however… 

As if summoned by her thoughts, she saw him on the dock—leaning against a crate, hat and coat in place and so distinctly Jack Robinson that she could tell it was him even from this distance. She began to wave enthusiastically, certain he would see her.

The boat was docked and secured and the ramp laid down, and there was a crush of people descending. Phryne stayed where she was, watching him; he looked up, tilting his head, and she was filled with a rush of affection. She grinned, bouncing on her toes and ready to leap. When the initial press of people had subsided, Phryne headed towards it. She practically skipped down the ramp, craning her neck to find Jack on this level; he’d moved from the crate, and for a moment he was out of sight. A touch on her elbow and she turned, seeing his smiling face.  

The time apart hadn’t changed the feel of his lips against hers, the motion in his jaw beneath her hand, the taste and smell and warmth that came with his kisses.

“Jack,” she exhaled when they broke apart, still smiling broadly.

“Miss Fisher.”

She raised her hand to tug at the lapel of his coat, a sudden lump in her throat. She’d missed him.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he asked, still smiling.

“Very much. Anneliese has asked me to visit again in the new year.”

He nodded.

“I’ll fly next time,” she said, moving her hand to play with his tie. She wasn’t quite ready to meet his eyes. “Perhaps you could join me?”

“In a plane?”

“Yes, Jack, in a plane. Flown by yours truly,” she said, rolling her eyes.

His lips twitched, suppressing a laugh. 

“If Melbourne’s criminal element cooperates, I would love to.”

Something akin to relief flooded through her—she’d go either way, but it was a trip she was certain Jack would enjoy—and she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. 

“Now,” she breathed against his ear, “tell me everything I missed while I was away.”

Letting him go, she took a step back, drinking him in.

“Well, Miss Fisher, to begin, you’ve arrived home just in time to assist me,” he said, offering her his arm as they walked towards where his car was parked.

“A case?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

“Worse,” he said. “My neighbour, Mrs. Browning, is determined that I am to marry her daughter. A scandalous liaison with a wealthy socialite is exactly what my reputation needs.”

“Ahh,” she replied, trying not to laugh. “I suppose I can help with that. Murder will come soon enough.”

“Think it can wait until after dinner?”

“I make no promises, Jack.”

“Good,” he said, opening the door to the car and welcoming her inside. “That’s exactly how I like it.”


End file.
